Lost In Sanity
by Strix Maleficia
Summary: Left to his fate at the hands of the SWAT team, it would only seem fitting a trial would soon follow and the Joker would be given the insanity plea.Thus he would be transported to a dismal cell in Arkham Asylum where it seemed he wasn't the only threat...
1. New and Old Boys

A/N: I do not own any of the Characters of the DC Universe and Bob Kane or new takes of Characters created by the Nolan Franchise of the past Batman Films. Now in the case of Edward Nygma I tried to think of a way to bring him into the Nolanverse. This is partially my own interpretation mingled with actually story lines I found through research. Praise and Constructive Criticism are highly welcomed. Read and enjoy. 8} (c)

* * *

There was a voice. It was crisp and clear for anyone to hear well enough. Yet that is if they wanted to pay attention to such an infuriating monotone sound. It was the same word followed by the same bloody phrase—over and over again. It would be capable of driving the man who this voice was direct to mad…if he wasn't mad already. He focused deeper and deeper into what lay before him. The newspaper clippings flew but were quickly placed down with a sharp thud on to the steel table he worked his 'project' on. The plastic scissors fumbled in his hands for their diminutive size was hindrance in their proper handling. They were simply comical looking in his large hands. A grown man using a child's pair of Kelly green plastic scissors was a sight to see in a normal setting. But this was not a normal place. This was a cell in Arkham Asylum.

This is where the man named Edward Nygma had been spending his last few weeks. After he had slain those miserably moronic workers at the Circus, he had been punished to endure this madhouse. In all honesty, he was the sanest madman in that wretched smear on the city of Gotham's face. He knew it as did his doctors.

"…Edward…"

A brisk working tune whistled passed his lips. He continued to ignore the vexation that loomed over his shoulder; the same vexation that would simply not give up this attempt to collect his undivided attention. Well, all Edward could say, that is if he did decided to speak to this wretch, was that—try and try again. Although it would be futile to even continue this little game of theirs, for it would be soon that Edward's turn would come round and he would broach some bit of information thus bringing this to an end.

"…Are you listening to me...Edward…if you do not answer me—"

"You'll what?" Snapped the harsh tone of Nygma's accent, he paused in his 'work' and peered out of the corner of his eye at the annoyance. This annoyance became bewildered by his sudden joining into whatever conversation the annoyance was obviously having with itself. This annoyance was one of Arkham's doctors who had been assigned to 'help' Edward in his 'recovery'. The doctor was a smug little man with a square jaw, droopy eyes, and a balding patch of mousy hair. His sausage like fingers clutched at their clipboard briefly to give away his shock. The ceased forehead and wide eyes gave away his hesitation more so when he gaped like a fish. "Well? I'm waiting…"

The little wanker stared for a tad longer before his lips snapped back and forth and that tongue rolled round in that vulgar mouth. Edward's nostril flared in disgust as his facial features refrained from contorting in displeasure at the grating sound rumbling from that gullet. "I-I do grow tired of these sessions with you, Edward. Truly, I do. They are beginning to have their toll on me. And-and frankly, I don't think you'll be seeing much of me after this day--"

"What?! You're leaving me?!" Edward's face became the perfect visage of utter shock and distraught; it was hard to see it as the false mask that it was. The mask however fell when a great fit of laughter reverberated through that skull white cell. It bounced off the uncleanly walls and the pitiful cot that was his supposed place for rest. "Do forgive me for my joy, but I say good riddance. You're not a very skilled psychiatrist that much is certain from the way you present yourself to your patients. You take no force!" At this mention of power he shot out of his chair and clutched the air forming a tight fist. This series of actions had the good doctor retreating back into the door of Edward's cell.

At this show of fear, Edward's demeanor shifted to calmness. He eyed the doctor with a superior sense of petty concern. His query spoke as he thought it, "Do you fear me, doctor? Hm? Me? Out of all the murderous lunatics in this blasted hole, you choose to cower in my shadow." Edward raised an eyebrow and waggled a finger at the little man. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, honestly, how could you think me capable of such things?"

The little man stammered in his speech and whatever he was trying to say sparked Edward to scold him for its inaudibility and inconsistency. He slapped his hand at the air, "Speak up! And clearly! For God's sakes, man! Get a hold of yourself! You're looking more like a buffoon than you already do!"

Suddenly, the little doctor took his ground--feebly but nonetheless he gathered the bits of courage he held within that dwarfish frame. This new persona left Edward completely expressionless. He stood there silently and blank in the face. "I will not stand for your rude behavior, Mr. Nygma! I simply will not! Do you hear me?! I will not--" Putting a stopper on his tirade, the little doctor watched with bulging eyes Edward bow. "Wha-What are you doing? If this is anymore of your moc--"

"No, my dear doctor, it tis not my mischievous nature that is before you humbly gesturing. It is the gentleman who desires that you accept his deepest apologizes--and this..." The mad gentleman returned to his perfect posture stepping forward. And in his outstretched hand was a scrap of paper. "Think of it as a parting gift, or better yet a reason to keep our chats. It is but a mere riddle. A riddle that once you solve will prove very informative."

This was how the game ended. The doctor left nonplussed with the bit of glued together parchment. The patient returned to his 'project'; the eminent victor.

* * *

_Two days later_

It was another dank and cold night in the city of Gotham. Winter had blown a thick layer of snow the past night and now what remained of that snow fall was murky slush and black ice.

Icicles hanged from their clinging spots for dear life. Although the occasional icy spear fell to its end, the choice never really being their own unfortunately for them. Kind of like the fine upstanding gentleman who was being forced to sit his Cadillac in a dismal alley way in Old Gotham. He didn't want to be there, but he **had** to be. It was as simple as that--no ifs, ands, or buts.

This gentleman's name was Charlie McFadden. Now Charlie boy here was really wishing he was home in a warm bed with the missus. But like stated earlier he **had** to be there in that damn alley. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. That's what he got for working for the mob. More particularly being a cop on the mob's payroll.

Charlie sat for what seemed like hours before he finally laid weary eyes on who he had been waiting for all this time. It seemed like it would be fitting to add to the misery Charlie was feeling at that moment when a bone chilling rain began to thump down on the car. Whatever soporific spell had fallen over him previously left. He needed to tail the car of his target. Do that and soon he be one step closer to relaxing in his soft warm bed.

He had followed the car of his quarry out of the Old Gotham and soon found himself tracing the borders of the highly secured ruins of the Narrows. The Narrows had lost the poor souls who once inhabited it when Crane's Fear Toxin had engulfed it in its fog and a frightening majority of Arkham patients from break-out failed to be caught and locked back up in their beloved loony bin.

His fearful green eyes glanced at the high electrified fencing on the other side of the bridges placed to get on to the island Arkham and the Narrows (New Arkham some cops called it) resided on. He shook his round face away from the place and kept focused on the car--

Poor Charlie had been distracted for barely a minute or so when he did not perceive as quickly as he wished he did the figure in the road. His car swerved and skidded to a crashing halt into the telephone pole. His little pudgy face smashed into the steering column. His head spun and soon the metallic taste of blood was in his mouth. A throbbing pain in the middle of his face informed him his nose was broken. As unconsciousness began to overcome him, Charlie swore he saw the figure grow more menacing when it advanced in its approach to the car.

"...arlie...Cha...Charlie..." A nasally voice cooed in a sing-song way.

"Hey, Charlie boy...Wake...HEY!" The voice turned deep and violent followed by a sharp slap to the face. A startled Charlie McFadden awoke. His eyes flew frantically round a room that appeared out of nowhere. For he did not recall a room at all when he blacked out. A smell also unfamiliar made his nostrils flare. It was the smell of rotted meat that made his eyes water. But watering wasn't the only thing his eyes did; terror widened them to the size of saucers.

A horrid runny white face loomed down at him. The ruby lips of the Devil himself smirked at him causing the disgusting scars growing out of the corners of his mouth to scrunch up more unpleasantly. Black smudges round a pair of dark ominous eyes glowered down at him. It didn't take much more for Charlie to realize--the Joker had him. The goddamn Joker got him just like he feared would happen once he had been given this little spying job.

"Whatcha doing following me, Charlie boy?" The Joker queried with an unnerving calmness as he leaned on the arms of the chair Charlie saw he was tied to. His struggling to get away from the face coming at him revealed that terrifying fact. The Joker's face was inches from his. The stained lips twitched as he waited for an answer or amused by Charlie's resistance.

Charlie felt like his voice had disappeared. Grasping and rasping sounds were the only sounds to spill out of his throat. This curled a twisted smile on the Joker's face. A pink tongue licked the lower lip and the dark eyes rolled in annoyance. A melodramatic sigh of anguish escaped the Joker whilst he pulled away from Charlie. He turned his back and walked over to a steel table.

Charlie peered and rubbernecked trying to see what lay on the table. A table looking much like that of what a surgeon would have in his operating room. The fright Charlie felt already augmented at the clattering of metal objects...

"Not to worry, Charlie boy," the Joker assured him as he fumbled with whatever it was on that damned table, "We have all night for you to think. So everything is going to be okay--" The bone white face of the Joker peeked from behind his shoulder at Charlie. The scrunch of the scars winked at him.

Charlie's heart raced. Sweat broke out on his forehead rolling down his face. His chest heaved and fell rapidly. Charlie watched the Joker roll up his sleeves. Then his eyes fell on the right hand now gripping a--bone saw, the Joker turned around fully patting the saw up and down in the open palm of his left hand. "So seeing as how the night knows no limits, much like myself, we are going to **chat** until you can remember, alright?"

Charlie's face of sheer terror would be blocked out by the looming shadow of the Joker.


	2. Walk the Walk and Talk the Talk

A/N: I apologize to the Joker fans for the lack of the Harlequin of Hate. But I promise to make up for it in the next chapter... and add the next character to my tale.

I do not own any of the Characters of the DC Universe and Bob Kane or new takes of Characters created by the Nolan Franchise of the past Batman Films. Now in the case of Edward Nygma I tried to think of a way to bring him into the Nolanverse. This is partially my own interpretation mingled with actually story lines I found through research. Praise and Constructive Criticism are highly welcomed. Read and enjoy. 8} (c)

* * *

Crisp sheets of paper were shuffled about in the hands of Dr. Henry Walker. Every single page incited one migraine after the other; _Goddamn paperwork_. Walker did not recall so much before Crane's fear toxin attack. Now however, there was just a file for about everything. And each one had at least numerous copies of itself. Walker finished the last of the night's work detailing on security flaws of the Asylum. _Perfect problems to have when the most insane man in this damned City has been incarcerate here._

Walker scoffed rubbing his temples. "I'm not sure they'll be very pleased to hear that." A knock at the door brought the exhausted doctor back to his surroundings.

"Get in." He didn't even have to cease the massaging away of his mental anxiety to know who it was. Only one would open wide his door stepping in with such pusillanimity and repulsive twitching; Doctor Parkhust.

"Dr. Parkhust, you do know what time it is?" he asked with an annoyed voice, hoping desperately for this to be quick and painless so as to get home.

"Yes, Doctor Walker, I-I certainly do but... It's about one of my patients—"

"Then you know that it is **this** particular time of the evening when I desire to vacate the premises and head home to a strong drink and warm bed."

Parkhust stood beside himself staring blankly at Walker rather bovine. His terribly comb over began to look like it was painted on due to the beads of sweat rising from his pores. Finally forcing himself to further acknowledge his **colleague**, Walker glanced through spaced fingers at the miserable little man.

"And what about this certain patient is it that has coaxed you to keep me from my wife and meal—**again**?" Walker remarked with an acrimonious tone. Slowly leaning back in his chair, Walker glared at the incompetent psychiatrist.

"Y-yes... and I do apologize, Henry—" Oh, he had to go do that! What is wrong with not using the professional title? "But I really do think this something that needs taking care of." The paunchy man clawed at his hands fumbling with the patient's folder resting on his clip board in his not so steady grip.

The vexed man sighed deeply. "Which one is it this time?"

"N-Nygma."

He rolled his eyes and standing as he restrained from slamming his palms down on the delicate wood. "Oh, for God's sake Parkhust, now you're really going to bring this up **now**!" Walker swiftly moved round his desk to loom over Parkhust. Sticking the poor man sharply in the chest, Walker continued his subdued tirade,"Nygma is no more than an overgrown child with a fixation for riddles. He had no history of violence before he decided to play a game of life and death with two fools who couldn't comprehend his little games. So like the child that he is, he goes and devises a much more—dare I say it—exciting **game**! It was supposed to be an easy case! Hence the reason I gave it to **you**!" Walker's eyes bugled from their sockets. His teeth bared in his grimace.

"But-But he threatened me!" Parkhust blurted out in a cowardly voice. Casting a pitiful gaze from his droopy eyes, he half expected Walker to feel sympathy for him.

Walker locked eyes with Parkhust for a moment wishing he could just strike him down for being this-this pathetic! He tossed a hand violently in the air and turned away fuming with a query. "With what, pray tell? He has absolutely nothing in that cell! Now unless he was able to with those fucking newspapers of his magically create a knife—you better say it was a threat to rip you apart with his bare hands!"

Walker had spun round once more to Parkhust with murder in his dark eyes. His chest heaved up and down as he blew off the constant steam his rage continued to make. A petrified Parkhust mumbled something. Walker cocked an eyebrow and stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Pl-Plastic scissors…"

Walker looked bewildered as his right hand rubbed his lower lip. He was trying to perceive what Parkhust had just said. His eyes looked wild as they scrutinized the flushed face of the man before them. The doctor at last spoke:

"Parkhust, I'm beginning to see the problems** finally** and it is clear who the true instigator of them is." Parkhust looked as though he had finally found an ally who would save him from his terrible plight. Walker appeared to be more understanding at that moment. For his face seemed much calmer. His eyes looked a little more caring. Even the gentle rest of his hand on the trembling shoulder of Parkhust made it seem all was well.

A rat like squeal escaped Parkhust when that once comforting hand now latched a fierce grip on the collar of his shirt. An index finger jabbed threateningly in his horrified face. The fiery eyes of Walker's rage returned, "I am sick with your idiotic and not to much childlike fears born due to one of your patients! Tell me, are you or are you **not** a Goddamn psychiatrist?!"

Parkhust fell apart. He could no longer hold himself anymore. His feeble character was shattered by the bestiality of Walker's angered demeanor. He became a simpering and whimpering little boy. "You're supposed to be able to react to that kind of situation! For Christ's sakes! Imagine if you had been given the Joker's case! **Which** I wouldn't have allowed because it would be the same as killing you right now!" Walker had gotten up front and nasty with Parkhust. His hot breath caused more perspiration on the pale, glistening face of the pathetic little bastard in his clutches. "Now, I would understand if there was paranoia—But Nygma?!"

Parkhust said nothing for his fear had stolen away his irritating voice. His eyes frantically staggered back and forth staring at the eyes reprimanding him like those of a guilty child.

Walker took a large soothing breath then released his hold on Parkhust. "Until the moment I get authoritative confirmation from Samuel for Edward to be reassigned a new doctor; I'll take care of Nygma's case." Walker straightened Parkhust front as he spoke. He roughly adjusted his tie when he stated. "And you're fired. I want your office cleaned out on Monday… or better yet **tonight**. Seeing as how it looks like you have nothing to go back home to, since you were so **eager **to keep me from my evening plans."

* * *

Edward sat content as can be in such a setting as the one he resided in. His hands continued to fumble with the child's plastic scissors. Their annoying size was not as irritating as had been the voice of Dr. Parkhust that had been assailing his ears earlier. He kept away from even thinking about that meeting previously and focused on his little 'project' as he affectionately was calling it.

The clipped printed words of the Gazette and Times (and occasionally the Globe) were pasted neatly if only their alignment on the bit of parchment was. He did not care at the moment their staggering placement on the page. The scrutiny he was expressing was on the very words he was putting down with each push and stamp of his hand. The riddles he was creating or reciting down from memory were his biggest priority at the time being.

Riddles—they were his greatest love. Something he felt he had such a knack for. Any kind of puzzle or mind game really seemed to be a talent of his. Too bad no one else was capable of enjoying his gift. Let alone being able to stand against him in a battle of wits. A sad thing indeed but he really for the most part could care less. Yet how was it that he seemed to lose patience with those incompetent fools he seemed to encounter? Oh, surely this was what led him to this insufferable hellhole. His inability to see his impatience was what his real crime was. Killing those bumbling imbeciles was merely a good deed.

Still fuming when he arrived at the door of Nygma's cell, Walker had left the blubbering doctor in his office. He even resisted the urge to let security force him to clean out and then carry him out to shut him up indefinitely. Trying to collect himself, Walker put on his mask of professionalism.

He lifted the manila cover of Nygma's file and began to learn more about him and notice how** useless** his supposed therapy with Parkhust had been. Sighing out the remaining fury within him, Walker realized he had no interest whatsoever in Nygma. The man was obviously insane but he wasn't a psychopath or sociopath. He did not have that true evil nature he was looking for. Still it wouldn't hurt to take a peek...

Edward Nygma was brilliant man, no doubts about that, which thought all the morons of the world should be slaughtered like his circus ex-partners. Walker's upper lip curled in aversion. Keeping his abhorrence at bay, he unlocked the door and stepped into the cell.

Hearing the cell door open, he did not divert from his task at hand. He instead sat oblivious to the person who had entered. Edward was not in the mood for these interruptions. After all his impatience was the demon behind his vexation.

The clang of the lock directed his eyes to merely glance for but a second at the door and who stood at it. His attention there did not last for he was putting the final touches. His eyes scanned the printed words each a different font. Each word from a different tale and source had been compiled for his usage. It made him chuckle to see it. To know he had taken the everyday news of the people of Gotham and was using it for an eminent purpose. One they would really need to read about.

He may not have given much notice to the other individual in the cell. Then again he never would even with nothing in front of him; he would still refuse to meet the requests of his doctors. Edward had much more important things to ponder about than the supposed instability of his mind. It was nothing short of ridiculous to see them try to communicate with him. Surely, there were the times he would speak to silence them, but a majority of the time he ignored them to the point of it was useless to continue on.

Locking the door behind him, Walker had noticed how his new patient purposefully avoided taking acknowledgment of him. Edward sat at the table, fumbling with plastic scissors (The life threatening scissors) to cut bits and pieces out of the newspapers given to him and was gluing them to a sheet of paper.

Walker took the chair opposite of Edward trying to read what was being slapped on to the paper. None of it made any sense. _Most likely another riddle_. Walker began to see that his patient continued his refusal to recognize his presence. Re-opening the file Walker started a more thorough reading of it as he waited for Nygma to finish his—"work of art".

With this particular person sitting before him, he was remotely surprised to see him try to decipher the masterpiece before him. This was certainly new. No doubts could be made about that. It was interesting to see a doctor take some intrigue in what he did in his imprisonment.

Edward was able to recognize this man. This was Walker. Another doctor at Arkham who unlike the others had more words whispered about him. It was as though he was a regular celebrity. Although he seemed to be more infamous than illustrious, maybe Edward would be more polite with this man—maybe.

Minutes passed on and began to seem like hours; Edward still ignored him. Walker had been in this profession long enough to know that he wasn't having an "absence" but was in fact not paying any mind to him. Edward was simply too caught up in his work. Walker, with a little amusement influencing him, knew better than to interrupt him.

"_Tempus fugit_," a breath escaped Nygma sensing the elapse of time. He was definitely lasting longer than the others would have. Oh, well, he might have to try harder than. Even though he was growing more curious by the minute, he was highly amused by the man's nonexistent attempts to pull Edward from his task.

"_Tempus fugit_?" He could hear Nygma whisper while he finished his riddles. Walker eyed him with shocked surprise. "Are we quoting Virgil, now?" No answer. Then when it seemed Nygma finished work of art, the psychiatrist leaned in towards him with an interested face.

Nygma's grin at his bit of 'fun' was beyond comical and more to the point of disturbing. It was quite evident how he found his brilliance and when it was mingled with such words as something godlike. Darkening his eyes flashed up at Walker, the smile was gone. His rubbernecking had been humorous for as long as it could be.

"What is it, then?" Walker asked calmly. He had seemingly been ignorant of the fact that he had been waiting for several hours in that cell now.

Hearing the placidity in the good doctor's voice, the corner of Edward's lip curled into a lopsided grin. His eyes focused on the fascinated face of Walker. He then spoke with a reverent pace, "You approach two talking doors. One door leads to the City of Truth, while the other door leads to the City of Liars. You do not know which door is which. You are able to ask only one question to determine which door is which. The door that leads to the City of Liars always speaks lies, while the door that leads to the City of Truth always speaks the truth. You want to go to the City of Truth. What question do you ask to determine which door leads to the City of Truth."

Walker raised his brows clearly unimpressed. "A riddle then, good God, I would **never** have guessed it. How very **original**, Nygma. How unexpected," he snorted, "Well, you have to be called the **Riddler** for some reason..."

His eyes darkened and Edward scoffed at the doctor answering the remark about Virgil, "I hate to be the bringer of bad news but—not all your 'patients' are as incompetent or scatterbrained as you'd like them to be. I happen to enjoy some of the classical minds of our past."

A smirk curled Walker's lips. "I'm certainly not dubious of that. I'm just pointing out how unusual it is in Arkham." He sighed then and a malevolent twinkle played in his eyes. "The first rule of a psychiatrist and life is '**never** underestimate your patients or opponents—or they will most certainly kill you."

He returned a snort at Walker as he reclined back in his chair. Edward found something strange with this man, but decided to keep Walker's fascination for the touch of the devil in man aside. His ruffled hair fell in several pieces across his smug face. Nygma twitched a smile as he retorted on his hypocrisy, "You're one to talk." Edward leaned forward to look Walker more closely in the eye. "I know perfectly well all about your little—'favorites'. How you have this…" His eyes rolled and he licked his lower lip thinking for a better word, but it seemed the one that popped in first place was the best choice. "For lack of a better word, this compulsion for pure human evil, that is a fixation on studying it and probing the minds, whether they be sane or insane, of others to see what truly awakens that **primal** instinct. So that you can use it against them, you desire to see their reaction when they are face to face with their inner monsters."

Edward paused to not look at Walker but to the security camera in the upper right hand corner of his cell. Finally Nygma returned from his pondering, "So I'm hoping you're speaking as one hypocrite to another…"

"Touché" Walker leaned back in his chair smiling at a worthy adversary despite the fact he was madman.

Then staring at each other in mutual stalemate for a while, Walker stirred, "Oh, wait? You expect me to answer it?" A little barking laugh rumbled from his throat. "My answer to that would probably be that first doors cannot talk, second there is no such thing as a city of truth and a city of lies, and third thing is truths and lies do not exist anyway, because they are only biased delusive concepts... But I'm not sure that's the answer you're expecting, huh?" A grin stretched across Walker's face.

Staring intently at Nygma, his eyes took on a faraway look as Walker set his cerebration analyzing the riddle. It was trickier than it seemed. Walker than tempted to dismiss the whole thing but he wanted to know…

Edward grimaced and with acrimonious conjecture, "My, my, aren't we a fast thinker?" Nygma then kept his snide attitude back to think about what Walker said. An unreadable smile stretched across his face when he finished his pondering. Now he could see the anxiousness Walker displayed to know if he was correct, but he wasn't going to inform him just yet. He had to speak his piece first. "Oh, so right—that it is wrong. Surely, there are different types of 'door's if you will. But my dear doctor, there are cities of truths and lies. This entire planet is made of them. The very city we resided in is a mixture of both."

Edward had placed his elbows out on the table and was performing a series of gestures as he spoke. He then slammed his hands palms down on the table rather violently. He then raised his right index finger to Walker. He squinted an eye stating, "For once in your life, Walker, don't think like the fools round you. You've been mingling with them too much me thinks. Thus that is why you **lie** to yourself; for there are lies and truths, Walker. Some are tangible whilst others are dying to be found out because they have no voice. No form—**yet**. So yes, that was not the answer I was hoping for." Edward fell back into his chair smirking.

Nygma studied the face of the man across from him. _What was our dear Dr. Walker thinking? What is his story, I wonder?_ Edward drifted his stare once again to the camera peering down on them. Before he could reflect anymore on what thoughts was going through his mind, Walker spoke:

"I'd ask either door," he answered finally, "what would the other door say and do the opposite." Relaxing, he felt satisfied with that. Suddenly his eyes darkened as he leaned in asking, "Did I solve your little riddle, Nygma?"

Edward cocked his head and thought for a moment feigning the face of one trying to remember what the answer was. He then rubbed his chin with his hand stroking the stubble on his face. The sand papery touch scratched against the skin of his fingers. His head tilled back as he studied the patterns he saw in the texture of the ceiling.

He then glanced down at Walker, "You ask a door – 'If I were to ask the other door which door leads to the city of truth, what would he say'. And then you pick the opposite door of what he tells you. Ask the door – 'If I asked you which door leads to the city of truth before, which door would you have told me?' And you choose the door that it directs you to." Edward gave a congratulatory smile at the doctor. "A negative and negative = positive, or a positive and positive = positive. Very good—not bad really, seeing as how that was a relatively easy one." Nygma was never going to give anyone the satisfaction of answering one of his riddles correctly. He'd always find something one way or another to ruin the taste of victory. He was simply too proud to admit defeat.

He let Nygma congratulate and chastise him for his answer to the riddle. That man was brilliant. Walker liked him very much, not that he would admit it openly, but to himself, yes. Frowning, Walker seemed caught in an internal debate with himself. Nygma was perfect, but— Looking at the smirking man before him, Walker knew that he was... far too presumptuous for his own sake. Although he could look over that, Edward may have been a textbook example of egomaniac, but he seemed like a good subject to study for his research. "Edward, how would you feel if I put you up to my little tests?"

Edward leaned in to say with a venomous tone, "I'd never give you the chance to. For I don't think I would be able to get that precious time lost back." Dark eyes glowered over a deadly smirk.

"I think we have different outlooks on life, Mr. Nygma," Walker suddenly said after a moment's silence. "You think truths and lies along with good and evil exist, do you not?"

Edward merely answered with the widening of his smirk and adding, "You think we live in a world with no truths or lies,** but** you believe there is good and evil."

Walker mimicked a similar smirk which disappeared with the baring of white teeth. "I also believe in flawless…chaos." Walker's face turned downward. His eyes looked panicked and his brows furrowed. He then said in an apologetic tone, "I think the Joker is beginning have an effect on me."

Edward look across at the doctor his face blank, but his eyes filled wonder and curiosity…


End file.
